


Almyran Pine Needles

by Metallic_Sweet



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, Courtly Love, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, M/M, Pining, Politics, Strategy & Tactics, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24422797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metallic_Sweet/pseuds/Metallic_Sweet
Summary: Or, Ferdinand von Aegir's guide to how to catch feelings for one Claude von Riegan in the middle of a war.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 20
Kudos: 85





	Almyran Pine Needles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [3RatMoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/3RatMoon/gifts).



**one.**

In the aftermath of Myrddin, Ferdinand tumbles with Claude. 

This is not planned. Tumbles are never planned. They are tumbles precisely because they result from an overflowing emotion and are overwhelmingly physical. In the aftermath of battle, especially a victory so strategically important as taking the Bridge of Myrddin, having a tumble is expected. Ferdinand is not arrogant enough to hold himself above such human desires and follies. 

Claude is attractive and extremely strong. He is a wyvern rider, which Ferdinand has always found fantastic, and a consummate bowman, the one physical weapon Ferdinand himself does not have particular mastery over. He is very articulate, a great debater, and an astute politician. He is someone that, even if the war had not come and forced decisions upon them, Ferdinand would have looked forward to seeing in the political and social arena. He has a tricky attitude, but he has the best interests of those he cares for at heart. 

These are qualities that fill Ferdinand’s heart with an alarming level of fondness. Ferdinand considers them as he remembers waking and looking to the side to see Claude dozing. His mouth was open and drool trickling out the side of his mouth. He considers them deeper as he finds his mind straying over the next few days to the arch of Claude’s nose and the shape of the calluses on his hands. He considers them again at odd moments throughout the rest of the week between war councils, stable duties, even once not so briefly as he lay in his own bed and stared sleeplessly at the ceiling.

His candle flickered. Ferdinand turned his head to the side. He watched the tallow melt until the wick sputtered out. He forced himself to close his eyes. 

_Oh_ , he thought to himself. _Oh, dear._

**two.**

When Ferdinand was a boy, he spent the majority of his childhood fantasies looking north. He dreamed of the tales of Loog and Kyphon, and he adored stories of romance at the frigid, contested border between Gautier and Sreng. All high tales overflow with their romances and follow a particular structure. The hero is introduced, faces an impetus to become heroic, and then struggles until they fulfil their heroic duty. The romance is sometimes the impetus and, if the hero succeeds, the ultimate reward. 

“These are heavy thoughts,” Lorenz says, very sympathetic.

They sit in the gazebo over tea. The weather is very pleasant and mild as it always is at Garreg Mach. No one else is around, so they can discuss topics of love and emotion without risk of being overheard. They could not have done this here before the war. The gazebo was the most popular place to have tea time. Nowadays, it is usually only Lorenz and Ferdinand and occasionally on Saturdays, Byleth. 

Before the war, when the monastery was in constant hustle and bustle, they took tea together in Lorenz’s room. It was comfortable because Lorenz always kept his room neatly arranged. Ferdinand suspects he paid some other students to air his rugs and bedding because those were always well-pressed and faintly perfumed. Ferdinand, to this day, cannot imagine Lorenz cleaning his own room so thoroughly. 

“I suppose,” Ferdinand sighs.

Lorenz offers him a commiserating smile. He does not pry into why Ferdinand is ruminating on thoughts about his childhood and the tales he once enjoyed. Tea time is not when they discuss deep personal issues. It is a time for light, sometimes political or spiritual conversations. Deep thoughts are for war councils or to be murmured behind closed doors. Subtlety, much like tea itself, is the key. 

Ferdinand watches Lorenz measure two spoonfuls of Almyran Pine Needles into their cups. He adds a teaspoon of sugar to his own cup before reaching for the hot water pot. 

“Thank you for allowing me to choose today’s tea,” Ferdinand says as Lorenz trickles a gentle stream of water into his cup. 

“Of course,” Lorenz says, smiling warmly. “While Almyran Pine is not my favourite, the merchant did say this is freshly from the Throat.”

“I do hope it lives up to our expectations,” Ferdinand says, lightly teasing. 

“Quite,” Lorenz says, grinning. 

The tea is excellent. Ferdinand nods and murmurs through Lorenz’s opinions and commentary and does not judge as Lorenz predictably adds a generous splash of cream to his tea after describing it as faintly acidic. They talk about the cost of the tea and debate how the merchant has been able to survive without increasing his prices since the start of the war. Lorenz argues that he wishes to treat his noble customers well. Ferdinand argues that it could be the influence of Garreg Mach Monastery looming over the marketplace to appeal to the man’s magnanimous heart. 

These motions are familiar and calming. In the world of his youth, this was the type of conversation he would overhear with his parents. He expected to have such discussions himself with his peers. Lorenz would have been an appropriate friend and companion, even as a member of the Alliance. 

Claude, even as Duke Riegan, would have been less so. Aegir had only distant dealings with Derdriu in the past few decades. Aegir’s interference with Hrym and Ordelia is part of this; the Alliance turned a blind eye there and therefore to Aegir. If not for the war, Ferdinand suspects he and Claude would have only met when at odds. The possibility of a hostile relationship rather than the camaraderie and trust they have cultivated sits like a rock in Ferdinand’s stomach. 

“You know,” Lorenz says as they clean up their tea prior to afternoon war council, “my favourite of the Loog tales was of the great romance with the Maiden of Wind. A very overdone tale –”

“Lorenz,” Ferdinand laughs as he picks up the tea tray, “it is the founding legend of House Blaiddyd and the Kingdom itself.” 

“A very overdone tale,” Lorenz asserts, grinning cheekily, “but for good reason. A Maiden of great power, astride a gorgeous pegasus, heralding victory in the heat of battle—well! Who doesn’t like a tale like that?” 

“It is a very good tale,” Ferdinand agrees. 

They pass by the Dining Hall. Ferdinand sets the tray alongside the dirty dishes behind the Head Chef’s station. Mercedes joins them on her way out of the kitchen, and Lorenz and her chatter about the sweets that she baked for dinner. Ferdinand smiles when Mercedes raises an eyebrow at him. She is polite, just as Lorenz, not to pry into his thoughts. 

There is full attendance to the afternoon war council. Claude is already there, chatting with Seteth and Byleth at the head of the long table. Ferdinand catches Claude’s eye and is rewarded with a brief, bright smile his way. Ferdinand inclines his head and tries not to smile too widely back. He moves with Mercedes and Lorenz, the latter of whom is still talking, to their usual places by the southern windows. Claude returns his attention to Seteth and Byleth. The loss Claude’s focus makes Ferdinand feel illogically bereft. 

Ferdinand is certain now this may be a problem. 

**three.**

There are many aspects of Ferdinand’s current life he did not expect. As strategic conversation hone onto Grondor Field, it is ever more important for Ferdinand to keep a firm handle on his heart and an even firmer focus on shaping visions for the future within his head. 

For his own peace of mind, he does not dwell deeply upon what will come of the Empire at large. Outside of war councils and strategy meetings, dwelling upon the Empire fills him with sadness. He thinks more often about Aegir and his mother and siblings that still live there. He hopes that they have stayed in the manor house, which should still be safe. He hopes they have adhered to the harsh but liveable terms of house arrest. He hopes, with barely controlled desperation, that none of them tried to follow his father to Hrym. He wants to trust they have better sense and enough pride in themselves to stay strong until the war is ended. 

He does not hope that they trust him to return. He left with troops and resources, and he gave his mother his word. Theirs is a family, though, where words are folly. Ferdinand hopes he may prove this better when he arrives back in Aegir. He will do his part and bring pride back to his family. He will show his worth. Not just during the war but in the shape that Fódlan and Adrestia takes in its wake. 

“Ah,” Claude’s voice filters through Ferdinand’s thoughts, “I hoped to find you here.” 

Ferdinand pushes his hair out of his face. Looks up. Claude leans on the stable door, tilted so that he has a full view of Ferdinand on his knees with a grooming brush. Claude’s lips are full, parted on an amused smile. 

Ferdinand wonders how he would look in the summer sun of Aegir. 

Claude blinks at him, curiously. “Are you busy?”

“I have just finished,” Ferdinand says, running his hand through the fur on his horse’s leg; he wonders if his thoughts showed too clearly. “We got a bit dirty in exercises this morning.” 

“Yeah, the rain did make things pretty muddy,” Claude agrees as Ferdinand stands up and uses his hands to brush the worst of the mess off of his shins and knees. “Do you want to take a bath before we speak?” 

Ferdinand opens his mouth. No words come out. He closes his mouth. Feels his face heat as Claude’s eyebrows crawl up on his forehead. Claude’s lips stretch, his light amusement turning into understanding. He does not laugh, which Ferdinand had feared momentarily. Instead, he looks delighted. 

“Well,” he says, very happy. 

“Ah,” Ferdinand croaks, reaching up instinctively to hide his burning face, realising his hand is very dirty, and letting it drop to his side again. “Yes. Well.” 

Claude does chuckle then. His amusement is at Ferdinand, but it is also commiserating and very friendly. It is utterly different from such reactions from Lorenz or Mercedes. Ferdinand is no expert on romance, but he knows that the embarrassed eagerness he feels is not simply friendship. 

From the spark in Claude’s eye, he feels the same. He straightens and takes a step back. Ferdinand also straightens and takes a step forward to open the stall door. 

“I want to talk to you about Adrestia,” Claude says as Ferdinand slides the door’s bolt open. “I know we have multiple options for how we approach, and if we take Gronder Field, it will bode well for our advance.” 

“Certainly,” Ferdinand says, stepping out of the stall and shutting the door behind himself; he turns to slide the bolt back into place. “We have to push our advantage coming from the north. I know you believe it likely that Faerghus will also show, but they are very cavalry heavy. They will push from either the west or the east.”

“The land is more level,” Claude says, nodding. “I suspect that Dimitri will come from the east.” 

“Edelgard would not waste the advantage of Gronder Field as Adrestian territory,” Ferdinand agrees. “I suspect she is already set up in the stronghold to the south-west, and she will have archers on the main hill.” 

Claude inclines his head. He shifts so Ferdinand and he may begin walking through the stableyard. The light rain in the morning has already cleared. The cloud cover remains, but Ferdinand sees small patches of blue peeking through. 

When he returns his gaze to Claude, he finds Claude’s own gaze is soft. Fond, even. He has a slight crinkle at the sides of his eyes. 

“Let us have breakfast together,” Claude says, warm and very welcoming. 

Ferdinand grins. His heart feels so full. 

“Sure,” he says, and then, gently teasing, “but after I have a quick bath.” 

Claude, eyes alight with joy, laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> Connect with me on [Twitter @Metallic_Sweet](https://twitter.com/Metallic_Sweet)!


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